


Shed Your Skin and Expose Your Bones

by inoubliable



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Idiots in Love, Loss of Virginity, M/M, anyway thanks for coming to my tedtalk, thinly veiled politics, virginity is a social construct!, virginity means nothing!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable
Summary: Eddie hears Beverly’s voice in his head.Virginity is a man-made concept. No one’s dick has the power to change who you are.And maybe she’s right, but if any man is important enough to change him, Richie is.





	Shed Your Skin and Expose Your Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the new Coheed and Cambria song, [The Dark Sentencer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T3zm1_JSPOQ).
> 
> This is for the fyeahreddie 'taken' prompt, because I'm a pervert.

Let the record reflect: none of this would have happened if Richie Tozier knew how to keep his fucking mouth shut.

Richie has always been something of a braggart. His favorite unit of measurement is his dick, which he _insists_ is massive, even though they’ve all seen him change after gym. He’s maybe a little bit bigger than average, but he’s certainly not as huge as he claims. Of course, he’s probably not done growing, considering he’s already a head taller than the rest of them and still shooting up, but… 

That’s not the point.

The point is that Eddie Kaspbrak is a good kid.

He chews with his mouth closed. He does his chores, and his homework. He goes to church with his Ma every Sunday. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He’s never been kissed, not really. He’s seventeen years old and he’s never so much as looked too long at a girl.

(Sometimes, sometimes, Eddie will look too long at boys, but it’s usually one of his friends, so it doesn’t count. It’s hard _not_ to stare at Big Bill Denbrough, or kind Ben Hanscom, or Richie fucking Tozier.)

So, when Richie loses his virginity, it’s kind of a big deal.

It happens the second week of their junior year. By the third week, the whole school knows about it.

But Eddie knows first.

And, okay, it’s not like Richie comes running to his doorstep to tell him all about it. Richie probably doesn’t even mean to tell him, but then they’re in Richie’s room, listening to records and pretending to study whenever Maggie Tozier passes by door she insists they keep open. Open doors have been a Tozier family policy ever since Richie almost burned the house down making a bottle rocket the year before. Eddie doesn’t mind the lack of privacy because at least Mrs. Tozier lets Eddie come in through the front door – the only way Richie gets inside his house these days is through the bedroom window.

Richie has his chemistry textbook open but he hasn’t turned the page in several minutes, and his knee is jolting erratically, a constant _up down up down_ rhythm that shakes the entire bed. Eddie ignores it for awhile, but then Richie starts to tap his pen against the page, and he’s used to the constant buzz of noise that comes with hanging out with Richie but this is _excessive_.

“Something on your mind?” he says. It’s not really a question. He mostly just wants Richie to stop distracting him so he can finish reading the English assignment.

But Richie looks at him and, in a rush, like he doesn’t even mean to say it, blurts out, “I had sex.”

Eddie blinks.

Richie is not good at awkward silence at the best of times, and he rushes to fill it. “With Jane. You know, the one with the gap between her teeth? She asked me to help her with pre-calc, so I went to her house, but apparently math isn’t what she needed help with, if you know what I mean. She –”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie says, partly because he’s scared Richie is going to give him details, but mostly because his entire world feels a little bit like it has tilted off its axis.

Richie closes his mouth but stares at him expectantly. It takes Eddie a moment to realize he’s waiting for Eddie to say something.

“Congratulations,” he says, and then stares stubbornly at his homework until Richie slowly returns to his own. The only indication that he’s disappointed with Eddie’s reaction is the way he keeps perfectly still and silent, not seeking his attention at all.

He goes home not long after. It’s still light out, but he climbs into bed, feeling abruptly exhausted.

It’s not really a big deal. Richie isn’t even the first of the Losers to do it. Beverly called Eddie the year before and described her own first time the night it happened, and they had giggled about it together for a full hour, until Eddie’s mother woke up and caught him. It had been funny, then, mostly because Bev had almost nothing nice to say about the whole ordeal.

It’s not at all funny now.

Eddie hasn’t give a whole lot of thought to his sex life – or, well, lack of one. He’s seventeen years old. He has his whole life, you know? Sure, he has wants. He has desires. He has _dreams_ , the kind that leave him sweaty and shaking when he jolts awake. And yeah, sure, Bev has a point when she says that losing your virginity doesn’t _mean_ anything. _Virginity is a man-made concept_ , she claims. _No one’s dick has the power to change who you are._

But Eddie has been taught his whole life that sex is sacred, and important, and maybe he’s old-fashioned, but he doesn’t want to give it up to just anyone. He promised his mother and God both that he would wait until marriage.

Thing is, Eddie doesn’t know if he believes in God, and he doesn’t know if he believes his mother, and he doesn’t know if he wants to wait.

* * *

Richie having sex for the first time is big news for about a week, and then Rachel Pratt gives Jonathan Pulliam a blowjob behind the bleachers and everyone moves on. Even Eddie stops thinking about it, for the most part. 

Winter ends, and so does spring. Eddie turns eighteen in late summer, and his friends ask him for weeks what he wants for his birthday. Beverly offers to plan a big party, and Richie offers to scrounge up some alcohol, and Mike offers to host the whole thing at the farm, but Eddie turns them all down. He wants something small. Something private. Something special.

His mother agrees to let him spend the night at Richie’s house, mostly because Richie’s mom calls and assures her that Eddie will be under her constant supervision. It’s pretty much a lie – Maggie greets him at the door and spends just enough time downstairs to ensure none of them are going to burn the place down, then she kisses them each individually on the forehead and retreats to her bedroom for the rest of the night.

They watch Eddie’s favorite movies and eat the cake Ben baked for him and at long last file into Richie’s bedroom, falling asleep across his floor on a haphazard pile of blankets, like they used to do when they were kids. Richie insists that Eddie sleep in the bed because it’s his day, and Eddie doesn’t quite know how to explain that he would rather be in the midst of them all, so he curls up under the sheets that smell like Richie and falls asleep to the sound of their collective breathing.

When he wakes up the next morning, his friends are gone and the house is quiet. He’s contemplating whether or not he should get out of bed when Richie walks in with a big bowl of his favorite cereal.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” he says, and Eddie can tell he hasn’t been awake long because his hair is stuck up at odd angles, because he’s restless even when he’s asleep and it always shows. “Getting you out of bed is always a pain in the ass.”

“Coming from you,” Eddie says back, propping himself up against the headboard. “You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine either.”

Richie just grins.

Eddie eats the cereal in silence, and then puts the bowl aside. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then stretches. Richie looks at him, and his eyes fall to the little strip of stomach exposed between his sleep shirt and pajama pants. There is nothing particularly sexy about that look. Richie has looked at him like that about a million times. But, still, Eddie thinks, apropos of fucking _nothing_ , about what Richie’s chapped-rough mouth might feel like against his skin.

“Hey, Rich,” he says. Richie’s still looking at him, but he inclines his head, an acknowledgment. “I think I finally know what I want for my birthday.”

“It’s not your birthday anymore,” Richie reminds him, but he glances at Eddie’s mouth when he licks it nervously, like maybe he’s thinking about kissing, too.

Encouraged, Eddie smiles. “Humor me.”

Richie rarely tells Eddie no, and he doesn’t start then. “Okay. What do you want?”

“I want you to kiss me,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady, and Richie doesn’t even try to look surprised about it. He stares for a long time, his expression unreadable. Eddie starts to think maybe Richie’s going to turn him down, but then he reaches out and grips Eddie’s chin in his big hand.

“Okay,” he says.

They kiss, then, briefly. It’s the first time Eddie has ever been kissed outside of childhood curiosity and adolescent dares, but it’s not altogether dissimilar. The kiss is innocent, dry and tentative. It’s not at all what Eddie wants.

But then Richie tilts his head, and he pushes his thumb against the hinge of Eddie’s jaw, coaxing his mouth open, and oh, it gets so much better. Eddie’s whole body feels a little weak, a little floaty, and he grips the front of Richie’s shirt to ground himself.

They part after awhile with a slick sound that makes Eddie shudder.

“Jeez,” Richie says, reaching up to adjust his glasses, knocked askew by Eddie’s nose. “Happy fucking birthday, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says, but it’s absent-minded. He’s distracted by the way Richie’s mouth is a little wet and a little red. That’s Eddie’s spit, making it so shiny. The thought makes him feel hot and cold all over, and he blurts, without thinking, “I wanna have sex.”

Richie blinks, his eyes huge and owlish behind his ridiculous glasses. “You, uh… what?”

“You heard me,” Eddie says, more confidently than he feels.

Richie rubs a hand through his hair, smoothing down some of the wild angles. It doesn’t make him look any more put together, and in fact serves to make him look all the more absurd, what with his pineapple-printed pajama bottoms and the neon pink band-aid on his throat to hide the nick he got from shaving.

There is nothing sexy about weird, ridiculous Richie Tozier in that moment, and Eddie has never wanted anyone more.

“I wanna have sex,” he says again, very slowly so there is no room for interpretation. “With you.”

Richie looks… well, Richie looks like maybe he’s not firing on all cylinders. He blinks a few times, his mouth working around a sentence that he doesn’t actually speak. Eddie wants to laugh, but he’s scared Richie will think he’s not serious about this if he does, and he’s never been so serious about something in his entire _life_.

“But,” Richie finally manages. “You’ve never…” His eyebrows hunch together suddenly, and he peers at Eddie through squinted eyes. “Have you?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No.” He reaches out and picks up Richie’s hand, tugging it into his lap, lacing their fingers together. They used to hold hands all the time, when they were kids, and Richie’s hand is a lot rougher now, a lot bigger, but still very familiar. Eddie wants that hand all over him. “But I want it to be you.”

All of the air seems to leave Richie’s body at once, like he’s been punctured. His voice is cracked-open and raw when he says, “You want me to take your virginity?”

Eddie hears Beverly’s voice in his head. _Virginity is a man-made concept. No one’s dick has the power to change who you are._

And maybe she’s right, but if any man is important enough to change him, Richie is.

He nods. Richie groans from somewhere deep in his chest and he reaches for Eddie with the hand that Eddie isn’t already holding, drawing him into another kiss, deeper than the first few, earnest and wet.

“Are you sure?” Richie asks him, between kisses. He misses Eddie’s mouth when they reconnect but takes it in stride, smearing open-mouthed kisses down Eddie’s jaw and the side of his throat, talking all the while. “You’ve gotta be sure, Eds. I need you to be sure.”

“I’m _sure_ ,” Eddie whines, his fingers flexing against Richie’s back. “Stop asking.” He feels overheated and overwhelmed, so he pushes Richie away to twist out of his shirt. Richie releases him the second he feels the slightest bit of resistance, and that more than anything confirms that this is exactly what Eddie wants. He could tell Richie to back off and he _would_ , no questions asked. Richie would never hurt him. Richie is his best friend in the entire world, and there’s no one he would rather do this with.

They separately strip down to their underwear. Eddie wouldn’t mind helping Richie out of his clothes, but Richie climbs off the bed, almost tripping over the pants still clinging to one ankle. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and disappears out the open door.

When he returns, he doesn’t close the door behind himself, flinging himself onto the bed, clutching something in his hand. Eddie eyes the empty hallway, suddenly so sure Maggie Tozier is going to burst out of her bedroom and catch them red-handed.

But Richie kisses the side of Eddie’s face and says, “My parents are at work.” His smile is bright and crooked and as contagious as always. “Don’t back out on me now, Eds.”

It sounds like a joke, but there’s the tiniest tremor in his voice, a huge question in his eyes. _Are you sure_?

“Thought I told you to stop asking,” he says, touching Richie’s cheek.

Richie looks a little lost, like kissing Eddie senseless is nothing but that soft touch is where he loses his footing. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“I can read your mind,” Eddie tells him, rolling over so his body is on top of Richie’s. Richie is taller, but Eddie is all compact muscle, and it makes him laugh when his weight forces Richie to make an involuntary _oof_ sound.

Richie raises an eyebrow up at him, flat on his back, his hair a wild dark halo around his face. “Oh, yeah? What am I thinking?” He only sounds a little breathless. Eddie has every intention of changing that.

Eddie slides his knee between Richie’s spread legs, his thigh sliding against where Richie is already hard. Richie makes this surprised gasping noise and pushes up into the contact like he can’t help himself. “You’re thinking about being inside me,” Eddie whispers.

“Oh my God, who _are_ you?” Richie moans, and hooks his hand behind Eddie’s neck, dragging him down into yet another kiss. Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the way Richie kisses, fast and earnest and a little clumsy. There’s no real finesse, just desire.

Eddie could get used to being desired.

He pulls away and finally looks at what Richie’s clutching in his hand. It’s a small tube of unscented lotion. He raises his eyebrows. “Am I not soft enough for you, or something?"

Richie grins. “We both know you already moisturize three times a day, Eds.”

Eddie purses his lips, chin tilted haughtily. “Which is why I’m gonna look gorgeous in thirty years.”

“You look gorgeous now,” Richie says, and _oh_.

“Flatterer,” Eddie accuses, pink and pleased. “Really, what’s the lotion for?”

Richie rolls them over suddenly. He holds himself up with his elbows, braced around Eddie’s face. Eddie is already dizzy from the sudden movement, and it only gets worse when Richie murmurs, “We have to get you, um. Wet.”

“Wet,” Eddie repeats, faintly. He has only the vaguest idea of the mechanics of sex, especially sex with another man, but he’s slowly starting to get the picture. “You’re gonna put that… there?”

He trusts Richie not to make fun of him for his inexperience, and Richie doesn’t. His expression is as serious as Eddie has ever seen it. He nods. “It’s gonna feel weird,” he says plainly.

“How do you know?” Eddie asks. “Have you…?”

Richie smiles. “Only to myself.”

And that’s… that’s something Eddie is going to spend the rest of his life thinking about: Richie, in this bed, long fingers lotioned up, probing at his own hole, keeping desperately quiet so his parents don’t find out. Eddie gives an almighty shudder.

“I trust you,” he whispers. “I want you.”

And so they work together to get Eddie’s briefs down his legs. Richie unceremoniously tosses them off the side of the bed and puts his hands on the bare insides of Eddie’s splayed thighs, spreading his legs farther apart. Having Richie kneel there between them is the single sexiest thing that has happened in Eddie’s life thus far.

The lotion bottle makes a filthy squelching sound when Richie squeezes some out onto two fingers, but he doesn’t even laugh at the noise. Eddie does not think he’s ever seen Richie look so focused, like every single scrap of his overworked attention span is on Eddie and Eddie alone. Eddie’s breathing is shaky even before Richie carefully touches his hole.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Richie says, his voice low. Intimate.

“I don’t want to stop,” Eddie says in a rush, and is rewarded with a smile and the very tip of Richie’s finger.

Richie was right. It feels weird.

Richie gives him a moment, presumably to adjust. Eddie closes his eyes, but it makes him feel exposed and vulnerable and sort of scared, so he looks at Richie again. Richie is still smiling, but his eyes are intent on Eddie’s face. “Good?” he asks.

“Keep going,” Eddie says, sounding braver than he feels.

Richie’s finger sinks impossibly deeper. He’s very careful about it, but Eddie’s entire body is taut and there’s simply no way to make it comfortable. It doesn’t… hurt, exactly. If anything, it aches, like an overexerted muscle.

At last, Richie’s knuckle is against him. He twists his hand, and a static-shock jolt goes through Eddie’s whole body. “ _Ah_!” he cries. Richie stares at him, unblinking, his eyes impossibly dark.

“Just breathe,” he says.

Eddie breathes.

In, out. In, out. In—

“ _Fuck_!” he whimpers when Richie’s finger slowly drags out. It’s not nearly as bad as when he pushed in, but it’s still a strange sensation. He’s clamped down so tightly that if Richie pulled all the way out, Eddie is sure he wouldn’t be able to push back in again.

But he doesn’t pull out. He fucks Eddie slowly with one finger for awhile, so long that the sweat on Eddie’s forehead beads up and rolls onto the pillow, and he finds his hips moving in tiny increments.

“More,” he gasps, and the word sounds like it’s been ripped from his chest. “I can take more."

“You can take what I give you,” Richie says. His voice is even, not at all demanding, but Eddie gasps anyway. Christ. Eddie wants to take _everything_ Richie gives him.

Richie works him up slowly to another finger. It doesn’t ache as fervently, probably because Eddie is loose and desperate, his fingers clenched up in the sheets. He knows he’s not ready for Richie to fuck him, but God he wants it, he wants it, he wants it.

“Please,” he whines, not even sure what he’s begging for. “ _Please_ , Richie.”

Richie shushes him. “Just let me.”

Eddie doesn’t know how Richie hasn’t realized that Eddie would let him do _anything_ , but he flings one arm across his face, muffling his whimpers into the crook of his arm.

Two fingers become three, and it hurts – sharply at first, then a dull ache. He’s panting, open-mouthed, making small high-pitched noises whenever Richie so much as twitches. His fingers are so long, and he’s moving in small increments but never stopping, and all the sensation is building and building into… into _something_. Eddie doesn’t know if he could come just from this, but there’s something white-hot and dangerous in the pit of his stomach, and it is threatening to consume him.

Richie’s fingers curl deep inside him. It feels strange, made stranger by the way he drags them down, and then it feels _electric_. Eddie makes a sound so loud it might as well be called a yelp, his body surging up. “Richie,” he gasps, his eyes wild.

Richie looks both put-together and impossibly destroyed. His eyes are heavy-lidded and black, and his mouth is swollen like he’s been chewing on it. His hair is pushed back from his face, and he smiles at Eddie like he’s the center of the universe. “Found it,” he says, and touches that place again before Eddie can beg him not to. He doesn’t let up, his fingers nudging hard at that spot, a constant erratic rhythm.

“Too much,” Eddie gasps, his hips jerking erratically, pushing into Richie’s hand and then trying to get away. “It’s too much.”

“Don’t you like it?” Richie asks, half-taunting. “You’re taking it so well.”

Eddie moans. “I’m gonna come.”

Richie’s hand pauses. “Oh, fuck,” he says, almost to himself, and his fingers slowly retreat. Eddie feels empty when he’s gone, but he doesn’t even have enough time to miss him before Richie’s suddenly in his face. Richie kisses him once, but Eddie’s mouth is slack and panting, so Richie kisses his chin, the hinge of his jaw. “I’m gonna fuck you now,” he says, and Eddie’s entire body throbs.

Richie pulls away just long enough to lean over and fumble for something in the nightstand, sliding out of his boxers as he goes. He produces a condom after a moment and tears it open with his teeth. Eddie wants to make fun of him for his secret stash, but then Richie is rolling the rubber onto his dick and Eddie can’t think of anything remotely clever, his mouth suddenly very dry.

And then Richie’s on top of him again and Eddie feels the head of Richie’s dick pressed up against his hole. Eddie’s legs curl around Richie’s waist and hold him there. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Do it.”

Richie stares at him. “You’re sure?”

“Thought I told you to stop asking me that,” Eddie says, impatient and desperate. His legs tighten around Richie. “ _Fuck_ me.”

“Jesus,” Richie says, almost to himself. “You’re perfect.”

And he starts to sink in.

For one long second, Eddie is sure Richie isn’t going to fit. Richie might not be as big as he claims, but he feels suddenly _huge_. Eddie clutches Richie’s shoulders, nails digging in, his face screwed up. It hurts. It _hurts_.

Richie kisses the side of his face. “Breathe for me,” he murmurs. “ _Eddie_. Just breathe.”

So Eddie heaves in a great big breath, and his muscles finally give in to the persistent press of Richie’s hips. All of the air leaves him on a yell. Richie’s not all the way inside, probably just a few inches deep, but Eddie has never felt so full. “Oh, _God_ ,” he gasps.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Richie thumbs at the corner of his eye, his entire body going still. “Eddie? Shit, baby, don’t cry."

Eddie shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s so much,” he whispers. “It’s so _much_.”

“Do you want me to pull out?” Richie asks, sounding sort of frantic.

Eddie clutches him closer. “No!” He opens his eyes and blinks away the hazy sheen of tears. “I’m okay. Please fuck me.”

“Baby, you’re _crying_ ,” Richie says. He looks sort of uncomfortable, sort of incredulous, but then Eddie shifts his hips up and his eyelashes flutter.

“ _Please_ ,” he whines. “I promise I want it.”

Richie doesn’t look all that convinced, but his hips flex forward another slow inch. Eddie gasps wildly, his eyes rolling back.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

Richie doesn’t stop.

It takes a long time for them to work up to a rhythm, mostly because Richie is being excruciatingly cautious. Eddie doesn’t hate the pace, exactly, because it’s still _good_ , feeling every inch of Richie’s cock on every stroke, but…

“More,” he begs. “I need more.”

“Relax,” Richie says. “Let me take care of you.”

“But you _aren’t_ ,” Eddie whines, which isn’t fair. Richie has done pretty much all the work so far, and it’s not like Eddie hasn’t enjoyed himself. It’s just… It isn’t _enough_ , and there’s something hot and wicked scratching at his insides. He wants more than this. He wants Richie to hold him down, wants Richie to fuck him fast. He wants to feel every inch, both now and later. He wants to _come_.

Richie goes very still. “Oh, I’m not?” He doesn’t sound upset. He sounds amused.

“ _No_.” Eddie squirms, trying to coax Richie into movement. He makes a sound like a sob when Richie doesn’t budge. “You said you’d fuck me. You _said_.”

Richie doesn’t say anything, now. He leans back and lifts Eddie’s shaking legs one at a time, balancing them on his shoulders. He holds Eddie’s thighs firmly to keep them there and then, all at once, he shoves in. It’s so fucking deep that Eddie _wails_.

“Is that what you wanted?” Richie asks darkly, and Eddie doesn’t have the presence of mind to respond because Richie’s moving now, quick frantic strokes that Eddie feels in his _throat_. He’s making these _ah ah ah_ noises, punched out of him by the force of Richie’s thrusts.

“ _Please_ ,” he tries to say, but his voice breaks and then Richie lets go of one of his legs and reaches between them, wrapping a firm hand around Eddie’s cock. “Oh _God_ , please!”

“You gonna come?” Richie murmurs. He’s fucking Eddie likes he owns him, like Eddie’s entire existence is entirely reliant on the pleasure Richie provides, and that singular thought is so hot that Eddie nods desperately before he even realizes how close he is. Richie smiles, swipes his thumb over the tip of Eddie’s dick, and says, “Come for me, Eddie.”

Eddie comes, helpless to disobey.

He gets sensitive almost immediately, his entire body clenched up, a raw exposed nerve, but Richie only lasts for five more erratic thrusts. He collapses on top of Eddie, heavy and sweating. Eddie laughs breathlessly, arms folding around his shoulders. Richie hisses, twitching away from the touch, and Eddie gasps when he sees the raw wounds Eddie’s nails dug into him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, gingerly prodding a particularly deep scratch. Richie twitches but lifts his head to look at Eddie.

“Let me fuck you like that again and you’re forgiven,” he says, grinning and shameless.

Eddie gives a tiny little shiver. “Did you think this was gonna be a one-time thing?” he asks.

Richie’s face does something funny, the way it always does when someone tries to have a serious conversation with him. “I… don’t know?”

“Well, it’s not,” Eddie says, matter-of-factly. “I’m never gonna find someone else who sounds like they’re straight out of porn.” He pitches his voice deep and mocking. “ _You’re taking it so well. Let me take care of you_.”

Richie’s entire face lights up, delighted. “You’re one to talk!” he says, and he flutters his eyelashes, voice going high-pitched. “ _Please fuck me. Oh my God, just like that_.”

“I do _not_ sound like that,” Eddie says flatly.

Richie shrugs, unconcerned. “Maybe my memory’s bad.” His grin goes sly. “Maybe I need to do it again to remember right.”

“I’ve already agreed to fuck you again,” Eddie reminds him. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

Richie mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key. He then gives Eddie a closed-mouth kiss on the cheek, which, strangely enough after everything, makes Eddie blush. He pushes Richie off, but then turns over to follow him, landing half on top, their legs tangled together.

Eddie doesn’t feel a change, the way he thought he would. He’s a little sore, and a little sticky, and he really needs a shower, but. He doesn’t feel any more or less complete, now that he’s not a virgin. He doesn’t feel dirty, or different.

He just feels happy, and relaxed, and _good_ , the same way he always does when he’s with Richie.

**Author's Note:**

> This is, hands-down, the filthiest thing I've posted to this account. I hope you'll all still respect me in the morning.
> 
> Talk to me on [tumblr](namingtheruins.tumblr.com).


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